


No Place Like Home

by thefrogg



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-05
Updated: 2013-03-05
Packaged: 2017-12-04 08:29:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/708664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefrogg/pseuds/thefrogg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's more to rescuing Dean from Hell than just getting him out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Place Like Home

**Author's Note:**

> Previously posted to my livejournal.

"Dean. Dean, stop, calm down." Sam wrapped himself more firmly around his brother, sweat-damp skin skidding across dry. 

Breath came harsh and irregular, broken by tiny whimpers as Dean shook his head, unable to look at himself in the mirror. He struggled to break Sam's hold, knowing he lacked the leverage to escape, lacked the strength to fight, and tried anyways. "I. Don't. Want. To. Do. This."

"I know."

"You can't just _fix_ me, Sammy, it doesn't work like that," Dean snapped, then tucked his chin to his chest, shallow pants hissing through clenched teeth.

"So you're just going to spend the rest of your life unable to look in the mirror?" Sam carefully loosened his hold, coaxing his brother with hands and voice to lean back and relax until Dean's head lolled against his shoulder. "This isn't so bad, is it?"

"Sammy. I don't want to do this."

"Then say it."

Dean stiffened, leaning to one side so he could meet Sam's gaze. "Say what?"

"Say-you don't even know, do you?" Sam whispered, blinking rapidly against the shock and pain. "You don't-Jesus, Dean, you have a _choice_ here, you know I'm never going to make you-God. Safeword. You can safeword out if you need to. I should have-"

"Sammy," Dean interrupted, his voice strangled.

"Dean, I'm sorry, I should have-"

"Can't. Breathe." Dean wheezed, then coughed as Sam released him.

"Sorry."

"'S'okay," Dean said, feeling Sam's discomfort in the shift of his body, the way Sam no longer knew what to do with his hands. "Bitch." 

Sam laughed in relief, pressing his forehead to the nape of Dean's neck. "Jerk."

"I don't think we're in Kansas anymore, Toto," Dean whispered to himself, letting the affection in Sam's veiled 'I love you' remind him where he was.

"Nope. I dropped a house on the Wicked Witch." 

"Okay, Dorothy, you wanna click those ruby slippers together?"

Sam nipped Dean's shoulder gently in rebuke, but otherwise didn't move.

Dean leaned back, Sam automatically wrapping him in the security of his arms again. "We going to do this?"

"That's up to you," Sam said mildly, lips catching on Dean's skin.

The difference was real, palpable. Scar tissue pulled tough and raw from the skin inward. Dean could see it in his mind, lurid pink unfaded over pale skin deprived of sunlight, old white scars from years and years of hunting forgotten and negligible beneath. He didn't need to see it with his eyes.

"You gonna open your eyes?" Sam asked.

Dean swallowed hard, rolling his head back and forth against Sam's shoulder. "Do I have a choice?"

Sam shrugged. "We could just sit here all afternoon. I don't mind."

"You know there's no point to this, right? I mean, you heard what the docs said, I'm never going" - he choked on the words, forced himself to finish - "to get full use back."

"You let me worry about a point, okay?"

Bitter self-pity settled over Dean like a cold mist. "Yeah. Okay. I'll never be able to hunt again, and there's no way I'm letting _you_ hunt without me there to back you up, and you think making me look in the mirror is going to--" He broke off on a scream as Sam bit his shoulder, hard.

"This," Sam licked the bitemark he'd left, the new skin slick and uneven under his tongue, "is not ugly, Dean. It's not repulsive. It's not going to make me leave you. You didn't fail me, Dean."

Dean flinched. "Tell me, Sammy, how the hell did I not fail you? Dad died because of me, Sam--"

"That's because he loved you enough to sacrifice himself."

"--I couldn't keep Jake from killing you--"

"You weren't the one who killed me."

"--I couldn't even make them bring you back _right--"_

"Demons lie."

"--and I can't _do_ this, I can barely stand to have you _touch_ me anymore." Dean felt his sinuses clog, his muscles tense and knot in and around scar tissue. He cursed his weakness, the damage his half-remembered nightmares of Hell had caused.

"Is that because they hurt, they're too sensitive, or because of what they did to you?" Sam refused to let go, running his thumb along the mass of scars spilling over Dean's shoulder.

"Sammy..." He didn't bother trying to answer the question, just surrendered, melting under the weight of his grief and the heat of Sam's body.

"They're not ugly," Sam whispered into Dean's skin, lurid pink shining with the fog of his breath. "You survived. They couldn't break you. That's what they mean, that's all. The people who matter aren't going to see them as ugly. And I know you aren't going to cheat on me, so what does it matter?"

Dean inhaled deeply, the sound thick and wet, before breaking into hysterical laughter.

Sam whispered soothing nonsense in Dean's ear as laughter turned to ragged sobs.


End file.
